this night in the woods," reasoned Captain Gardiner. An opinion in which all coincided, except Mrs. Gardiner, who had many misgivings.

What was the strange apparition she had seen? Was it in truth a disembodied spirit, or had her senses played her false? She could only wait the course of events, but it was in a most perturbed frame of mind that she did the honours of the board for the guests who were making merry after the rough experience of the preceding night.

CHAPTER L

UNRETURNING

"They sought all that night, and they sought the next day,
And they sought all the time till a week passed away,
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not;
And years flew by, and their grief, at last,
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past."

HEN, shortly after the breakfast hour, Wyancombone rowed over to the island, and it became known that the Lieutenant had not been seen at the Indian village, uneasiness was changed to keen apprehension, and the Highflyer was soon speeding across the bay, bearing the searching party, and guided by those who had accompanied the young officer upon the ill-starred hunt from which he was destined never to return.

The search was begun and prosecuted with unflagging zeal. Aided and piloted by the keenest scouts of the Montauks, parties of white men scoured the island for miles around in a radius from the spot where Kingsland was last seen in life, and among the most zealous of the Indian scouts was Poniute, who chose for his especial ground the low-lying swamp and bog surrounding the dismal lake, where he was accompanied by half a dozen white men.

Captain Gardiner, Colonel Lawrence, the captain, officers and marines of the Highflyer, besides planters from the settlements, joined in the hunt in a body, or by turns, but not the slightest trace of the

lost one could be found. As mysteriously as if the ocean had engulfed him the Lieutenant had vanished from mortal ken.

The authorities from Easthampton were summoned, and a systematic espionage was kept upon the savages, most prominent among these being Ascassasatic, whose voice had ever been for war, and the minor warriors who had at intervals given token of a disposition to revolt against the encroachments of the whites; but not the slightest sign of treachery or knowledge was discovered.

As we have said, among the foremost and most vigilant in the search was Poniute, who, with Wyancombone, had guided the white men through the intricacies of the forest to the very edge of the quagmire, a point beyond which no human foot might tread lest a life might be lost, Poniute carefully pointing out the various pitfalls, above one of which the stark form of the Lieutenant lay, upheld by the network of frozen roots, and encrusted in the sepulchre of glistening snow and ice piled three feet above his pulseless heart, in the hollow as smoothly and evenly laid as the broad expanse stretching away among the ice-laden tangle of brier, thorn and sedge encircling the frost-bound lake.

Sinking knee-deep in the crusted snow at every stride, four men followed Poniute and Wyancombone, who made their way to the very edge of the growth of hemlocks, where thick, green fans, weighted with snow, drooped low over an embankment, swaying in the sobbing wind, and there Poniute, who was in advance, halted.

The eyes of the grim warrior, resting upon the spot where he had left his victim, scintillated with an unholy light, but neither Captain Gardiner nor Colonel Lawrence noted the fiery gleam that told the

youthful Wyancombone where, not ten feet adown the slope from the little ridge upon which they stood, the man they sought slept in death.

Three weeks had been passed in the fruitless search, the wind was blowing sharply, whirling cutting particles of frost from the burdened limbs of the trees in their faces; even the hardy red men, inured as they were to the bitter cold, shivered, and their blue lips closed over their chattering teeth.

Not the faintest clue had been discovered, and weary, discouraged and footsore, the little party made their way back to their waiting boat, fain to give up the quest that had proved so bootless, and trust to time to lift the dark veil of mystery shrouding the fate of the gay young Lieutenant.

"What news? Have you gained a clue?"

Mrs. Gardiner put the stereotyped question, in the hopeless tone she had used of late-she could not frame the words, "Have you found him?" The gloomy brows forbade such an inquiry.

Not a trace-not a sign, wife. Poor Guy is dead, there's not a doubt. May as well tell our little lass that all hope is at an end-God help her to bear it! Break the news gently, dame, you women-folk having a faculty of doing that sort of thing. It is better that the story should come from your kind lips. Best thing under the circumstances-eh, Colonel?"

The latter portion of the remark was addressed to Lawrence, who paled and flushed, alternately, in spite of his habitual self-control, for the Captain had voiced the conviction for which he had chided himself, fearing that the thought was but a temptation from the Evil One.

In spite of himself, his heart beat with a quicker, joyous throb. Damaris loved him-he knew that,

and in his inmost soul he felt the conviction that although the shock of being assured her affianced husband was dead beyond a doubt would unnerve her, yet she would forget, and in time Here he checked his musing by a supreme effort, resolutely shutting his eyes to the future which might bring so much of promise.

But to Damaris the universal belief that Guy was dead scarcely came as a shock. From the first she feared the worst, and a tender pity for the youth cut down in the pride and strength of his manhood took the place of the bitter grief she would have felt had she loved him with aught save a sisterly affection—a sorrow that he, so winning, so full of life, and, as she fondly believed, so true, should have been snatched away when life was opening before him with brightest prospects.

Poor child! She strove to prove her loyalty to his memory, for the love she had unconsciously given another she fancied should have been Guy's by unquestionable right, and she still regarded with sisterly affection the man whose wife she would have been.

She mourned for the friend of her childhood, neither weeping nor moaning, but her heart seemed weighted, benumbed by a sense of loneliness. Her father was dead, his grave was beneath the tall pine, within the sound of the restless, moaning sea. Guy -how had he died? A haunting dread assailed her that he had been slain and devoured by wild beasts, else why had he not been found by the keen Indian scouts? How false she had been in her heart to the man who had ever been kind, and who had trusted her so implicitly! She never dreamed, poor, tender child, that the trust was but a lack of affection, a selfishness that blinded him to the truth.

"It grieves me most that I so far forgot his claim